The ceiling above him was coated in dirt—and was that blood?—he didn't dare glance at the floor upon which he awoke. He shuddered just thinking of this horrid place, really? Jail? They couldn't have killed him perhaps? He laughed a psychotic sounding laugh, jail? If only it were that simple, that he could survive, but Shin-Ra's jail? He'd be dead in a week, well, maybe not, they'd draw it out he was sure. If being consumed by Sephiroth was bad… Well, this could only be worse.
"Damn it," He muttered forcing himself upward, dusting off. Glancing around he noticed he was alone, where were his brothers?
The blood was prominent on the walls as well; he wondered whose it might be. He glared; in repentance for being caught maybe he'd have the chance to kill that bastard Rufus. He seriously doubted it, but all the same, it couldn't hurt—oh but it would—to try. He wondered briefly if his brothers were around here somewhere, or if they had been deemed useless and killed, he could only hope for the latter. He shifted his weight and glanced around some more, disgusting, ironic because he'd probably put someone in this place. He shuffled over to the bench—was that what it was?—and sat down next to another blood spatter. What the hell was Shin-Ra? House of horrors? Disappointment and regret swelled inside of him. Slowly it turned to anger; he could feel his Mother's disappointment in him, like an undying disease. But he hadn't been defeated, not once! Sephiroth? Twice! Was he too weak to restore Sephiroth to his god-like state?
"Why do you love him?" He sighed.